


Behold Without Eyes // Snarry

by Womiska



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blind Character, Dark, Eye Trauma, Friendship/Love, Illnesses, Love, M/M, Medicine, Mediwizzard, Potions, Slash, snarry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Womiska/pseuds/Womiska
Summary: A sight is a sense people rely on the most. They aware of the world surrounding them thanks to sight and loss of it is very painful. Suddenly there is no colour around them, they can no longer look into another one's eyes, they cannot see any obstacles in their path. They are left alone in the dark.With support from their closest ones, they are able to get used to it, to adjust to their handicap. But if they are left all alone, easily they become wry and bitter which often leads to resignation and wishing for death.It is hard to acknowledge a defeat. But sometimes it is even harder to put aside one's pride, open his mind and accept a helping hand.





	1. A light in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> An amazing trailer made by jajafilm with English subtittles: https://youtu.be/o8Econ9ErHA
> 
> This is a translate from Czech of my own story, that is published on Wattpad.com.

A young black-haired man was walking slowly through the afternoon crowd hurrying who knows where. He assumed many of them to be rushing from work to manage to buy some groceries before they jump into the whirl of making dinner, taking care of children and other necessary needs before they will be able to sit on a couch in the living room and watch their favourite soap opera. Some of them will also walk their dogs, put children to bed and make love with their partners before falling asleep. 

He knew that his idea of a cosy evening was a naive and kind of a fairytale one, he knew that it didn't work that way everywhere. He did also realise, that somewhere people would be fighting, somewhere else would someone be drowning their sorrow in a bottle of wine, someone would be worrying about person dear to them. But it was his own idea of a perfect evening. To come home from work, go for a walk with his lover and their dog, eat dinner together and then talk or watch a movie. Then later make the evening complete with cuddling, feeling each other's heartbeat and entwine fingers together in a gesture of belonging. However, nothing of that was any more than a nice fantasy. There was no dog waiting for him to come home, let alone a lover. Just a small quiet house he managed to get when the war ended and he finished school.

A cough somewhere at his feet preoccupied him and interrupted his flow of not so happy thoughts. Confused, he looked around and tightened his black scarf closer to the neck. He didn't remember any intention of making for the waterfront of river Thames, so standing under one of the many street lamps that illuminated the paved walkway and flowing water under him. Winter was coming, the air was cold and filled with damp that was forever bonded with London tales. The wind was playing with little leaves that fell down from trees where they fought for life until the very last second. Few of them touched a hunkered down person sitting on the ground with a clearly insufficiently warm blanket under him, who coughed again when he tilted his sight down to him. Without thinking, he threw a few coins he had in the pocket into a little plastic cup. The jingling sound was almost encouraging.

"I'm sorry, that's all I have," he mumbled and turned to continue walking.

"Thank you, sir," the man said hoarsely with a hint of gratefulness. It was apparent that he had a cold, his voice shaking from the freezing weather.

Something in him moved suddenly, he took two steps back. "Can I join you for a moment?" he asked, lead by some impulse of solitude. He had no idea if he wants to talk or just stay in silence, it just seemed nice to stop for a while and share the moment with someone else, someone new.

Not that he wouldn't meet enough of them every day — after graduating from Hogwarts he at last decided for a different career than he intended to. The defeat of Voldemort which he was obliged to without ever asking for it, broke something in him. Almost a year spent alongside Hermione and Ron, looking for Horcruxes disgusted him everything that has something to do with war and any crime. He gave up his dream to become an Auror. He put effort into studying, improved his potions and with Neville's help discovered secrets of Herbology. Instead of Auror's training, he applied for Mediwizardry studies. Instead of catching criminals, he decided to save lives the other way, he became the Mediwizard Potter.

And with a certain satisfaction, he realized that the job actually fulfils him, even though the shifts on the third floor known as the Poisoning department were sometimes very difficult and exhausting. He enjoyed meeting new people and being able to help them. It was refreshing and every smile on the face of a healed patient filled him with a warm feeling throughout his body. Maybe that's why a simple cough caught his attention so easily, whereas everyone else would simply overlook such thing.

"It's a public place," said the man with a shrug and straightened up, "you can do anything you want."

His voice was deep and unexpectedly pleasant, despite the fact that it was husky from his illness. It reminded him of something, something lost far away in his memories but he wasn't thinking about that for now. What surprised Harry so much he slightly jerked, was a dirty band around the man's eyes that got lost on each side of his face in his dark tangled greasy black hair that fell under his shoulders. A hooky nose dominated his face. The man was overall very dirty. His light clothes, completely unsuitable for the freezing cold, tore up and one of his shoes had a large hole in its sole. He had his hands in fingerless gloves entwined — if anxiously or simply trying to warm up, Harry had no clue. The man's face with overgrown beard tilted, trying to catch a hint of his breath to figure out if he still stood there.

"The question is," he spoke again, "why would you do that." Harry heard a wish for him to leave in his voice, and saw a silent prayer in his face that he stayed.

"You're ill," he replied instead and squatted next to him. He looked around, no one paid any attention to him, the waterfront was almost empty by now, the sky in the cooler of deep blue. He carefully took out his wand from his sleeve, created a mild warming spell with unspoken magic and sat down.

The man coughed again. "Obviously."

"Do you have any family?" Harry asked when he crossed his legs beneath him and dragged sleeves of his jacket over his fingers. He couldn't understand how the man next to him could bear such cold.

He tensed. "That's none of your business," he whispered.

"I thought that I could help you contact them. I'm sure they'd-" he started to explain to him but the man interrupted him.

"I don't have anyone," he retorted and tilted his head down, his fingers in his lap tightly clasped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to inquire," he replied with honesty. He wasn't entirely sure why he was so interested in that shabby man. Maybe he just wished to fill his need for any social interaction that took hold of him every time on his way back home. And something in his voice seemed so familiar, it fluttered on the edge of his subconsciousness, he just couldn't grasp it. He felt the need to know more, to remind himself of the long lost memory. "Do you have any other health problems, apart from a cough?"

"Why do you care? I can tell from your voice that you're young. Go home, cheer your wife, don't waste your time with me." An emotion that Harry couldn't identify glimpsed in the man's voice. He was missing eye contact, that would help him figure it out.

"I'm a doctor," he replied carelessly and ignored the pain somewhere near his heart. He had no one he could cheer. "I don't even have to examine you to see that you have a cold, soon there'll be a fever if you don't have one yet. The cough will get from bronchi to lungs. If you're not somewhere warm and dry, you'll get pneumonia." He remained silent for a while, he didn't mean to scare him but he needed to let him know how serious it could get. He continued with urge: "You could die of it."

The man didn't raise his head up. "Great," he sighed resignedly and shook himself.

"I will help you," he offered and reached out to encouragingly touch his shoulder but then he withdrew his hand. The man didn't see him. He could interpret his touch completely different from what he intended to.

"I don't need help," the man said but the sureness he meant to put in his reply got lost somewhere in the cough attack. "I don't want help," he continued when he calmed down. "I don't want to talk. Go home."

"Sure." He got on his feet. "Will you be here tomorrow? I'll get you something for the cough."

"I won't," the man replied with an obvious lie.

"Okay. I'll still come, around the same time." He frowned. "It's getting dark. Do you have somewhere to go?"

"It doesn't matter if it's day or night. I'm blind. There's only dark in my life." He finally lifted up his head to him and told him another lie: "And you don't need to worry. I have no idea why you care so much but I have a place to go."

Harry sighed but on the other hand, he understood the man. It was hard to keep any pride when he had to live on the street. And it apparently mattered to him. "I'll come tomorrow," he repeated and set off. In the middle of the first step, he stopped, took off his scarf and got on one knee right in front of the man. "I'll leave you something here. I hope it warms you up a little. No need to thank me." He let it fall in the man's lap and could almost imagine the look of surprise on his face. Then he took a few steps away from him until he was sure the homeless man convinced of him leaving. He looked at him one more time and couldn't resist a smile before he finally took off home.

The blind man under the street lamp sat there still, holding the scarf in his hands and inhaling its smell. He couldn't get enough of it. It was soft and still held a little bit of warmth from the man who left it there and that was leaving quickly but that perfect smell remained. He recognized some expensive perfume, similar to the one he himself once used to use. He could also smell the distinctive scent of the man that sat next to him just a while ago. He couldn't understand. He had to be young, surely had a family or at least a girlfriend that he could rush to but instead, he gave attention to him.

He couldn't resist and buried his whole face in the piece of cloth. He perceived all the tones of different smells meeting in one in his nose and felt a strange pain around his heart. How long had it been since someone talked to him for the last time without showing how strongly disgusted they were? He couldn't even remember. He tried to forget about the past. About the time everyone hated him, but then he at least had some pride, he was himself, at least in some aspects. He had somewhere to live, to eat, he had some respect. And he lost all of it in one single day. He'd just been waiting for death ever since, but it wasn't coming.

With a certain sarcasm, he said to himself, that not much has changed, actually. He still was hated by everyone. But then he could at least be clean. He sighed when he realized the scarf would get just as dirty as he was during the next few hours and its scent would get lost in the unpleasant smell he had around himself. But while he could, he just wanted to keep inhaling it, to snuggle with it, with the only source of light in his dark life.

Severus Snape desperately wished the man didn't come again. At the same time, he hoped that he kept his word. If he had any tears left, he would cry.


	2. Professional deformation or interest?

He was hungry. Hunger, it spread across his bowels and was strong it nearly made him break down. Since yesterday morning, he ate hardly anything. He spent that few coins he had on a piece of bread but someone stole it while he fell asleep for a few hours. He hated it. He hated his lack of sight, hated that he wasn’t able to find a safe place to stay the night, that he couldn’t tell if something is sneaking to him without noise. His instincts that have always been unwavering and reliable disappeared soon after he went blind. Weariness, uncertainty, fear, hunger and cold exhausted him completely and he had no strength to get to his house on Spinner’s End.

His wand was broken and he had no money for a new one. Knowing he had his own house with everything he needed made him feel somehow frustrated. If he still had the house, of course. He wasn’t in touch with the wizards’ world and after his first unsuccessful attempt, he hasn’t tried it again. No one cared for him. Actually, the only one he trusted was killed by him. He hoped that he’d die, too. That wish, however, remained unfulfilled and he hasn’t found the courage to finish it himself.

Without further thinking, his feet led him on a known path to the cold metal lamp where he sat down on a woefully thin blanket that he pulled out of a shabby pouch in which he kept his most valuable possessions. A box of matches, a candle that could warm his hands. A tinny cup, cutlery (he refused to eat like an animal although he felt exactly like that), two pieces of clothes that were so tattered it wouldn’t make any difference wearing them in this kind of weather. A piece of soap that he’d like to use but in such cold weather couldn’t imagine to step into the river and wash his clothes. Even though he thought about death all the time, this seemed like a suicide he didn’t want to choose. And then there was that one warm scarf in his pouch.

He didn’t believe the man would come, although he desperately hoped so. His voice so comforting and vivid, it filled his soul with warmth, tenderly slid to his ears and made him shiver. When he talked to him the day before, it was… nice. He longed to hear his voice again, it was like something familiar came back to him and brought him to another time, when the world still had only one dark side. He enjoyed that feeling. And wanted to experience it again. At the same time, he feared that he saw him in such a pathetic state.

He was shivering from exhaustion, his stomach growling with hunger and his fever kept getting even higher. He started coughing, so he didn’t hear quiet hesitating steps approaching him so he jerked when he heard a voice above himself. The voice. His voice. His heart that was beating frantically from the cough stopped for a while before it calmed down its beat. He slowly raised his head and relaxed his hands that were holding his stomach until now. He straightened up.

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Harry and kneeled next to the man on the ground so he didn’t have to look at him from above. He frowned when he didn’t see the scarf he gave him yesterday. In the cup in front of him was shining only one lonely penny. He looked around, no one was interested in them, so he pulled a blanket from a magically enlarged pocket and sat on it. “I brought you something. Give me your hand.”

The man shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” Harry asked. “I don’t intend to cut it off, don't worry.”

“I don’t want you to get dirty,” he explained quietly and Harry couldn’t fail to notice the trace of bitterness. “I don’t understand why you’re helping me. I didn’t ask for it. I can’t pay you back. But… if you really want to give me something, put it next to the cup. I don’t want you to touch me.”

“Of course,” Harry smiled a little. “I wouldn’t want to disrupt your personal space. I just wanted to help.” He put the things in front of himself before he gave them to him. “It’s cough syrup. Every bottle means a dose for one day. I suppose it wouldn’t be easy for you to measure them off from the big bottle.” They made a little jingling noise as he put them on the ground. “I didn’t mean to offend you anyhow,” he said quickly to the man’s sudden tension.

“I see.” He took one of them and hissed. He knew them so perfectly he had no trouble wondering where they came from and once again regretted his lack of sight. Something in him started wondering if he could have ever met that man sitting next to him before. And his heart suddenly started beating nervously. If the man really were a wizard, he prayed to heaven he didn’t recognise him. He curled up even more and resisted the temptation to immediately smell the content of the bottle.

“Here’s hot tea and medicine for the fever. It came already, am I right? Take two pills a day, ideally once in the morning and then in the evening.” A little bag with white pills and a flask ended up next to the bottles. “And I was thinking…” Harry blushed and ran his fingers through hair. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” A sharp tone lost its meaning in the very moment the words echoed through the air, followed by a loud growl in his stomach.

“Okay. Well, if you got hungry later…” He sighed for himself before handing him three sandwiches with ham and cheese. He had no idea what he’d appreciate the most but kept thinking that in his situation, he probably didn’t have any thoughts for something in particular. And what irritated him wildly was his reckless behaviour, letting himself get killed perhaps, just because of his useless pride.

“Why?” he hoarsed and had to keep himself from lounging out for the food. He didn’t get him and it made him nervous. Despite that, he couldn’t turn down his offer twice. His hunger was too significant.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered and thought about it before sitting more comfortably. “Maybe it’s professional deformation. Maybe you’re interesting to me. I don’t know.”

“I don’t have anything I could give you,” he tried to object. He was angry at himself, for being too miserable to keep himself in control. He wanted to send him off, to stop catching the glimpse of hope for a better life. He has already prepared for death. So why did that young man insisted on giving him another chance for life? So that he could feel better for a few days and then have it even worse after?

“Take the syrup, you’ll feel better. And eat something. That’ll be enough for me.” He started to get up slowly for he was sure the blind man will not do any of these while he’s sitting next to him. “Tomorrow you’ll tell me if it helped.” Then he got serious. “You really should get somewhere warmer.”

“Don’t even bother tomorrow. You won’t find me here.” _Please, come, even if you should only walk past me_.

“I’ll be a bit late. I’ve got a long shift.” He stopped after two steps. “Can I have your name?”

“It’s not important,” Severus mumbled.

“Perhaps tomorrow, then.”

“Thank you,” he whispered into the sound of more and more distant steps. He shifted into a more comfortable position and leaned on something soft. Amazed, he felt a blanket under his fingers. One lonely tear fell down from his dirty band. So he still had some tears left.

***

He poured himself whiskey just as he came home. A fireplace activated itself with his presence and nice warm flames lit up the whole room. He looked into them as he sat down on a couch in the living room and started wondering.

Why?

He didn’t put on another light, the world outside the window was already dark but he didn’t need more. The flames gently licked the wood that never disappeared and brightened modern light furniture, drawing moving shadows on the walls and reflected in thoughtful emerald eyes.

Why?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t find an answer to that question. He had no idea what made him help that dirty man, what made him care. He had never done anything like that before, it must have been related to some kind of need to save someone. He smirked, remembering Snape and his contemptuous face. He would quickly let him know what an idiot he is. But he didn’t feel that way. Who knows why he felt like it was a good thing to do. Maybe a crazy one, too, but definitely a good one. He felt the need to do more, bring him somewhere warm, make sure he has somewhere to go to at least get better and live at least some kind of normal life.

That was on his mind while he fought Voldemort. That everyone could live a happy life. That wizards and muggles could live in peace, without fear. But that man probably wasn’t scared. He was just so fatalistic, even though he tried so hard and wasn’t very successful to hide it. He sighed and drank the rest of whiskey in his glass, called himself a bottle and poured another one. He drank another two before falling asleep on his couch, thinking about the man’s eyes covered with a band.

***

He ate the first bread so quickly he didn’t even notice how it tasted. What he noticed was how every single bite filled his empty stomach with a warm calming stroke. He enjoyed the second one. He blissfully chewed and enjoyed every flavour that despite its simplicity tasted better than the most luxurious dish from Hogwarts’ elves. Who would have thought that one day his exquisite taste will be so keen about something so plain? He couldn’t resist and laughed at himself. How low he got? At the very bottom? Perhaps. Or maybe he was still headed there. Those little gestures from that young man kept him from falling from the cliff he was hanging from. And Severus couldn’t decide if he should be thankful or hate the man for it.

He wasn’t used to believing in illusion. Every one of his steps was very carefully calculated and planned so that he had the most benefits out of everything. At least that was what everyone thought, except for one person. Actually, except for two, he corrected himself. But Albus was dead, he himself killed him on his own request and become even more hated than before. No one knows what he had to do to keep the children at Hogwarts safe from the worst. Only Potter was the second one, to whom he in expectancy of his own death presented his thoughts, and who was Merlin-knows-where. If he could only guess that he will survive the snake’s bite, he probably wouldn’t have revealed them to him. Perhaps he would have only given him the information, that he is one of the Horcruxes.

But in that very moment, when death was knocking on his door and opening its soothing arms, sentiment got the better of him. He wanted only one soul to exist, that would know the truth. How ironic that he had to survive and end up even worse than when the Lord tortured him before death? He was prepared for it then and couldn’t hate the life of an outcast even more. The longer he lived, the more he became aware he welcomed death at ease. But there was still a little glimpse of will to live left, just a tiny light of hope that kept him from staying in the street when it started to rain.

From memory and thorough step-counting he finally got to his place where he usually stayed the night, under some kind of porch of an abandoned house. He found it by accident and was still surprised that no one kicked him out yet. Only sometimes he woke up to find out he was robbed. He sat down on a musty mattress that he kept there and with almost holy respect pulled out his new sweet smelling blanket from his bag. It was so warm. He immediately recognized the warming spell, it was very weak. Just enough for any muggle to think it was just an attribute of material. His suspicion grew even more. He wrapped himself in the blanket and decided to examine the rest of the gifts.

The tea smelled after lemon and herbs, its taste so strong and after he thoroughly smelled it, he simply enjoyed its warmth that spread through him for a while. He remembered that feeling from summer but that was disgustingly hot that only made him sweat so much. He didn’t recognise the pills but decided to, maybe foolishly, trust him and swallowed one. If he were to die, then so be it. Still, he refused to believe that the young man wanted him dead.

Then he grabbed one of the bottles, one of those his students used to bring him with their samples of potions so he could grade them. His hands were shaking, not because of cold this time. He forbade himself to think of anything sentimental. When he opened the bottle and smelled it, he couldn’t resist though. Plantain, sage, fairy’s breath, dragon’s heart. Improved version of potion for cough, probably mixed with some kind of pick-me-up and a potion to ease the pain. No wonder. It really was a wizard. He decided to never come back there.


	3. Losing everything and obtaining something new

Harry was nervous and refused to believe the fact that he should somehow lose his interest in the man and stop intervening with his fate but he just couldn’t do that. Three days in a row he went to the same place and found nobody sitting under the lamp. It was clear that the man had no interest himself in anyone’s solicitude but what if that wasn’t true? Not knowing why Harry couldn’t get rid of the persistent feeling that he got worse and is now dying somewhere without any help.

He started looking for him, if only for finding out that he is all right. He wouldn’t even let him know he was there, then. Harry just had to make sure that he didn’t come only for the reason that he didn’t want any more help. Thinking where a man like him could be found, he supposed that a blind man without anything that would help him with orientation, couldn’t get very far away. He found it hard to believe that he was able to move within great distances, he surely had just a few trackways where he could find his way back… to where?

Harry had no idea. At the edge of his consciousness, he heard that little voice that kept saying he went crazy, caring about a strange homeless man and Harry reluctantly agreed. Still, he couldn’t help it, the man attracted him like a magnet. He had this unexplainable feeling that he ought to know him. It felt as if he had the name in front of his eyes, at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t reach it and say it aloud and that frustrated him immensely. 

He walked through the streets of London in the dimly lit afternoon, looking for any hint of his presence. He passed buildings and storefronts of many shops, avoiding busy people, trying to keep himself steady on pathways that got wet from unpleasant drizzling soaking up the fallen leaves and created a very greasy slush. With an oncoming evening of the fourth day he resigned and started asking about him various unkempt dossers he met sitting at the edge of pavements or hurrying with a bottle of beer for shelter. Usually, he received only a grudging glance and shrugging of shoulders but just when he thought about giving up, a woman showed him a direction in exchange for a few coins.  
Hoping she hadn’t sent him somewhere completely off, he started walking in the direction she pointed out and shivered when a strong wind went through his black hoodie provided with a water-repelling spell. He didn’t care for money, although he didn’t have many of the muggle ones left, yet he worried more about spending all this time for nothing.

He became more alert when he went into a dark street that seemed vacant. Street lights were flickering and not allowing too much light to come in. On the paving laid scattered garbage and the end of the street wasn’t visible due to lack of light. Thick fog and omnipresent drizzle made the place even scarier and even though Harry wasn’t afraid, he pulled out his wand. Somewhere in the distance, a lonely howling of a dog sounded and an old window shutter in the wind above his head creaked loudly.

A muffled sound further down the street caught his attention. With his wand securely in his right hand, he went deeper into the darkness. For a brief moment, he considered casting a Lumos spell but kept walking in the dark. A shriek of pain and a burst of cruel laughter made him quicken his pace. He ran to the lamp that flickered from its last strength and saw a few figures moving away. He thought about running after them when he stopped watching his steps and fell to the ground right into a pile of rotting leaves.

He swore to himself and grabbed around to find his wand that slipped from his fingers while he stumbled over. He was relieved when he found it just a few inches away. “Lumos,“ he whispered, not caring about giving away his identity and froze when he realised what he stumbled upon. “So I found you,“ he mumbled rather to himself than to the blind man trying to sit up with painful moans. “Are you okay?“

“It’s you again?“ he groaned and hissed, catching his left elbow.

“Can you stand?“ asked Harry, getting up himself.

“Perhaps,“ the man breathed out and clumsily stood up. His height surprised Harry, he was even taller than him, although crouched and holding his head in his hands. He mumbled something and it sounded suspiciously similar to Salazar.

The young wizard raised an eyebrow but instead asked: “Are you hurt?“

“Everything hurts,“ he answered peevishly. “Is my backpack here somewhere?“

“There’s nothing in here,“ Harry said when he thoroughly looked around and confirmed when he tried a nonverbal searching spell. “I’m sorry -“ 

“Dammit,“ the man whispered and lowered his head. He lost everything. Apart from his ragged clothes, he had nothing. A thought came, suggesting it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to just sit down somewhere, freeze and finally wait for death. “Thanks for looking.“ He then turned to walk away with his hand in front of him, reaching for the lamp still quietly buzzing in the sudden silence.

“Where are you going?“ Harry blurted and quickened his pace to walk by his side.

“Don't worry. You’ve done enough for me already. Go home.“ There was a sharpness to his voice along with a hint of resignation that made Harry uneasy.

“I’ve been looking for you for four days,“ he stated calmly.

“Why?“ The man breathed out, surprised and stopped walking, turning his face to him.

Harry shrugged. “You weren’t there,“ he explained. “I want to help you. Let me do that. You’re very ill. Let me help you get better.“ He regretted the man couldn’t see the expression of his face so he tried and put at least a bit of urgency to his voice. “Please.“ The man stood still for a while, considering his offer, when he nodded subtly. Then he gasped because Harry took his hand and transported them in front of his house.

“Merlin’s beard,“ he moaned when he stood finally back on solid ground and quickly turned from Harry to not throw up all over him. Fortunately, he withstood that need to empty his stomach, although he didn’t have anything to throw up in the first place. Taste of gall made him uneasy and he kept breathing deeply, praying to heavens not to cough.

“You’re a wizard,“ Harry gasped in wonder and grabbed him under his arm.

“Not anymore,“ he replied, his voice lacking any emotion, shook his head and tried to break free from his grasp. “Let me go, you will -“

“Don’t be silly,“ Harry muttered and led him to his house. “I’m used to worst things from my job. Be careful, there are three steps ahead.“

“Where are we going?“ he asked a little doubtful, still he obeyed and climbed the steps along with Harry.

“My home. I’ve got a small two-story house with a green facade and a little garden with a few trees. We landed on an interlocking pathway that leads right to my door. Careful now,“ he explained, trying to let his imagination clear things up a bit.

“But -“ he protested and Harry stopped. He fixed his sight on him and regretted not being able to look into his eyes.

“There’s no need to worry. I’m not planning on killing you or anything like that. I just thought you might appreciate a good shower and warm up by a fireplace, what do you say?“ He raised an eyebrow and let honesty lead his voice.

“That sounds… acceptable,“ he got out of himself and Harry smiled a little. He couldn’t miss the way he lit up.

“Great. Let me unlock the door then. It’s brown if you wondered. Welcome.“ They went inside and both were hugged with a comfortable heat. “Would you like to eat first or should I lead you to a bathroom?“

He didn’t have to think twice. The simple idea of soap and warm water made him shiver. “The bathroom… please.“

“Okay. We’ll go straight. I’ll find you something clean to wear. You are taller than me but we’ll fix that with some spells before we get you something that fits you well.“ He held him softly by his wrist and couldn’t help but smile when he noticed the man’s tension how he would run straight into the bathroom if he could. “I have to tell you, it’s a relief for me that you’re not a muggle. Makes things a lot easier.“

“I guess,“ he hesitated, “but I don’t have anything I could offer you in exchange. I don’t want to stay in debt.“ He hated that feeling. He was used to taking care of himself but now he had to admit he found himself to found a complete rock bottom and without help could not survive.

“We’ll talk about that later.“ Harry opened the door and led him to a spacious bathroom, with non-verbal magic called in black pants and a shirt with from his bedroom, handkerchief changed into a narrow piece of cloth and added a pair of socks and underwear. “There’s a shower two steps ahead. In the right corner is a shelf, on it a shampoo in the round bottle and a soap in the angular one, right next to it there’s a toothbrush and a paste. The faucet is in the same height a little bit to the left. Warm on the right, cold on the left. I’ll leave you a towel and a brush in front of the door to the shower.“ He took his hand and showed him. “They open like a classic door and there’s no stair that you could trip on. Fresh clothes will be next to the towel. And…“ he stopped for a moment, “I suppose you won’t need your old clothes anymore.“ With a pause, he handed him a plastic bag that he, too, summoned with non-verbal magic.

“I don’t know how to thank you,“ he breathed out unhappily and stood still, hoping he leaves him alone. He didn’t want to undress in front of him but was ready to get over it somehow. But he kept still and quietly clenched his nails into his palms.

“I’ve told you we’ll talk about that later,“ Harry waved him off. “And I almost forgot,“ he swiped his wand and a bottle shifted through the air that he placed into his hand, “you must be exhausted. Take the Pepperup Potion.“ Severus took off the lid and smelled the familiar liquid before he swallowed it. Harry noticed the gesture but left it be for now. “There are many things you could hurt yourself with so I wouldn’t recommend moving too much around here. I’ll show you the rest of this house after. If anything, just call out to me.“ He laughed a little when he saw the man open his lips and took the empty bottle from him. “And stop thanking me. You don’t have to rush, enjoy it.“ With that, he turned around, stepped out from the bathroom and left the man alone.


End file.
